


Merch Envy

by BoudicaMuse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:46:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9624650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoudicaMuse/pseuds/BoudicaMuse
Summary: Darcy's life is going pretty great lately. She loves working with Jane at Stark Tower and she's doing well in her grad school classes. Best of all, Jane just helped her find a new apartment in Bed-Stuy and her new landlord is totally hot. Now, if only she could stop embarrassing herself in front of him long enough to ask him out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The canon here is sort of cherry-picked. It will help if you've seen both Thor movies and the first Avengers movie, but the rest of the MCU is gleefully ignored. If you haven't read the Matt Fraction Hawkeye books, all you need to know is that Clint owns an apartment building. If you have, this takes place during the period where Kate and Lucky are in California, but I'm also ignoring most of the big plot points and just using the setting.

Darcy buys an Avengers T-shirt from a vendor on 49th street on a whim. It's cheap and she's not too proud to geek out over real life superheroes. Still, it's not like she plans on working it into her main wardrobe. It's a sleep shirt. Something to clean her apartment in or to wear while doing laundry. So it's not like she _wants_ to roll into work one day wearing a shirt with her boss's boyfriend and his superhero buddies (one of them being the guy the freaking building is named after) stretched across her boobs. But then, it's a Sunday afternoon and she's not supposed to be at work at all.

"I better be getting overtime for coming in on a weekend, Jane," Darcy says as soon as she enters the lab.

Jane barely spares her a glance, just pushes a thick stack of paper into her arms and starts technobabbling, arms waving and eyes wild with the prospect of a breakthrough. Her hair's a mess and Darcy can't be sure because everything Jane wears is just a variation on the same flannel shirt and jeans combo, but it looks like she might still be in the same clothes from Friday.

"You do know it's the weekend, right?" Darcy asks, tossing her coat over the back of her desk chair. "Have you even been home at all? Slept? Eaten anything?"

Jane waves a hand at Darcy like she's nothing more than an annoying fly. _Rude._

"I took a nap. Listen, I need you to plot this data right away. I can't run the next experiment until I have those charts to properly visualize my analysis. And then after that, I need you to-"

"Clean up your chicken scratch notes and draft the reports for the Board, yeah yeah yeah. I think I know the drill by now. And I'll get right on that just as soon as you go eat a meal that would make Michelle Obama beam with pride and take a damn shower. Because I love you, Jane. You know that I do or I wouldn’t put up with your particular brand of crazy, but you seriously began to stink hours ago and are now firmly in Funkytown."

Jane stops her frantic shifting of paper piles, probably looking for the highlighter that she has tucked behind her ear, to stare at Darcy in outrage.

"Put up with me?” She says. “I don't know, Darcy, maybe you _put up with me_ because I'm the only person willing to employ someone with a BA in Political Science and only a passing acquaintance with professionalism."

"That's hurtful and proof that you lied about that nap. You're only this cranky when you've been up for over 30 hours," Darcy says, crossing her arms.

Jane sighs and rubs at the crease between her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, you're right. I just know I'm close."

"Look, you can't really do anything until I'm done crunching the data, right? So go home to your demigod and take the rest of the day off. You'll do better science once you've rested and you'll be a hell of a lot nicer after you've let Thor bang the stress out of you a few times."

"Darcy, really," Jane says with practiced exasperation. But her mouth quirks up in a little smile and she puts up very little resistance as Darcy pushes her out the door. Sometimes all she really needs is a little reminder that there are other things that make life worth living besides the next big discovery.

"I'll be back in a few hours."

"Uh huh, sure you will," Darcy mutters as the door swings closed. Just to be sure though, she fires off a text to Thor.

**Jane's on her way home. KEEP HER THERE until tomorrow morning.**

**I shall do my sporting best. ;)**

Darcy settles in at her desk, shaking her head at the weirdness of her life. Interpreting the results of Hard Science on a Sunday afternoon and getting winky face texts from a Norse god is not even close to where she thought she would be five years ago.

Some days it's hard to believe that she chose Jane’s internship program only because it was both the easiest way out of her required science credits and it offered her the freedom of being 2,000 miles always from her parents. These days she wouldn’t dream of leaving Jane’s side for anything in the world and is even putting herself through the absolute torture of grad school as an excuse to keep working with her.

After the “incident with the being known as Thor,” SHIELD had tried to get Jane to accept one of their jack-booted thugs as a lab assistant, but she had refused, even threatened to reject their funding and cut them off from her research altogether. Whether she actually preferred Darcy to a qualified lab assistant or just didn’t trust anyone new getting near her work, Darcy refuses to think about too hard.

When Tony Stark recruited Jane to work under the umbrella of Stark Industries, Darcy was sure she’d finally be shown the door. With the last four years of her life officially redacted, she'd be stuck moving back in with her parents and working at Starbucks like the rest of her graduating class. Shockingly, Tony (or his hiring manager anyway) was okay with her staying on under the condition that she pursue a graduate degree in Physics. Less shocking was the fact that not many grad schools were looking to admit a poly sci major with only a so-so GPA into their hardcore Physics programs.

The Philosophical Foundations of Physics program at Columbia (about as soft as you could make hard science), is primarily open only to students with a degree in either philosophy or physics, but between her work with Jane and a kick-ass personal essay, Darcy had scored a spot. Her position as Jane’s lab assistant now functions as half part-time job, half independent study. The part where she occasionally gets to party with otherworldly beings and meet people like Captain America is wholly awesome.

***

A couple hours after Jane’s banishment, Darcy is dragged out of a data daze by the sound of someone entering the lab. A peek around the side of her giant monitor reveals none other than Mr. Stark himself. They've met a few times before, thanks to his habit of popping in to check on the R&D floor when he gets bored with his own projects, but she seriously doubts he remembers her name. He proves her theory when he looks at her like he suspects she might have broken in.

"Uh, I'm looking for Dr. Foster. Is she around? She said she'd be around."

Darcy stands and heads for the coffee machine because now's as good a time for a break as any. "I sent her home. She was starting to look like a gas station egg salad sandwich. Kinda starting to smell like one too. Coffee?"

"I don't like to be handed things." Tony takes half a step back, like he’s worried she's going to force the mug into his hands.

Darcy shrugs and takes a sip, wincing at the taste. God only knows when the pot was brewed. "So anything I can help you with, or do you need the boss lady herself? Because if it's an emergency, you can find her in the residence, but there's a very good chance she's either passed out cold or getting sexed up by Thor. Either way, that big brain of hers isn't going to be much use.”

Tony makes a face that's somewhere between a leer and a grimace. "I just wanted to know when she was going to start the next round of trials and that woman never checks her email. I have half a mind to install JARVIS down here just so he can read her emails to her. Well, mine anyway. And all of her spam. Where did you get that shirt?”

It's a good thing that Darcy is used to the way all of the geniuses around her always seem to be thinking at the speed of light or she would have gotten whiplash from that change of subject. After four years of Jane though, her own processes have sped up enough to just roll with it. Besides, if Tony was wearing a shirt with her face on it, she’d have questions too.

“From a stand next to my subway stop. The guy wanted twenty for it but I talked him down to twelve since the printing smeared right over Archery Dude’s face.”

“JARVIS, did we license the merchandising rights for the Avengers?”

For a second Darcy wonders if Tony managed to install JARVIS’ programs in the lab with just his earlier wayward thought. Anything seems possible these days, especially when you work in Stark Tower. She doesn’t hear a reply though and belatedly she realizes Tony must have an earpiece in, even if she can’t see it. Either that, or Tony’s finally tipped the brilliant/crazy scale. Whatever JARVIS whispers in his ear lights an unholy gleam in Tony’s eyes and Darcy thinks maybe he’s tipped it anyway.

“I want preliminary designs on T-shirts, toys, mugs, bedding, the whole shebang. Let’s add a little padding to the Maria Stark Fund, huh?” Tony starts to leave, his reason for being in the lab apparently forgotten, but at the door he spins and snaps his fingers at her. “Darla. The trials?”

“We’re looking at tomorrow morning at the earliest,” she says. “And it’s Darcy!” But the door’s already swung shut and he’d never remember it anyway. Darcy shrugs to herself and goes back to her work. Probably just another hour of transcribing Jane’s notes and she can get back home to her poor, neglected Netflix queue.

***

A week and a half later, there’s a sizable cardboard box on her desk with, “PROTOTYPES” stamped across the side. One of her Hello Kitty post-it notes is stuck to the top, and in spiky caps:

**THANKS FOR THE IDEA.  
-TS**

Inside is a sampling of Avengers merchandise. The whole shebang, as Tony put it. Pens and notebooks with the Avengers logo, clothing with various team members’ faces on them. There's even a mug shaped like Captain America’s head.

“What, does he have a sweatshop in the basement? That's like a stupidly fast turn around.”

At the next desk over, Jane snorts awake. “Wha?”

“Got a bunch of Avengers stuff here. Want a Thor doll?” Darcy holds out said doll, shaking it in front of Jane’s face.

Technically it's an action figure, but it’s a terrible likeness, closer to Barbie than His Mighty Buffness. Jane smiles sleepily and curls it into her chest before slumping forward onto the desktop again. Darcy makes a mental note to leave some ibuprofen out for her when she wakes up.

It's going to be hell carrying such a bulky box on the subway, but it's kind of cool that she gets all of this stuff before anyone else will, even if some of it is hilariously ugly.

***

When Darcy followed Jane to New York, she knew she’d never get the same Stark Tower residence hook up, but somehow she didn't imagine finding a decent place to live would be quite as difficult as it turned out to be. She went through three crazy Craigslist roommates before her constant complaining must have inspired Jane to ask around on her behalf. One day in early March, Darcy finds a post-it in Jane’s handwriting stuck to her monitor.

**Found you an apartment 212-555-4295**

And then on another post-it stuck to the bottom of that one,

**In Tony’s lab. Can't find where you hid my notes from yesterday anywhere. Bring them ASAP!!**

**And coffee!!!!**

_Seriously doubt you need any more coffee._ Darcy thinks, eyeing the overuse of exclamation marks.

She grabs the all-important notebook (which she did not hide, thank you very much) and heads down the hall.

“Darcy, finally!” Jane says and takes the notebook from her, shoving it into Tony’s hands instead. “You can read, right? It's all right there since you won't believe me.”

Tony looks ready to drop the notebook, but instead he tilts it to get a better look at a diagram Jane has drawn.

“He doesn't like to be handed things,” Darcy says helpfully.

“I really don't,” Tony says, not looking up and turning a page. “But this is very interesting.”

“It's more than interesting,” Jane scoffs. “I just need to adjust the calibrations one more time and then we should be in business.”

“Mm,” Tony says, sounding doubtful and drifting away to tap something out on his fancy light keyboard.

“Jane, what's the deal with the apartment?” Darcy hisses.

Jane gives her no response, even though Darcy _knows_ she can hear her. But Jane’s mind is fully absorbed in the adjustments she’s making on what Darcy has been affectionately calling the Obviousinator.

If Jane’s as smart as Darcy knows she is, it’ll eventually prove that interdimensional travel is possible. Never mind that whole business in London with the wacky gravity and the holes in the sky, the old white dudes who run all of the important science journals want the math.

“ _Jane._ ”

“Not now, Darcy. Hand me that. No, not that. That!”

Darcy impatiently hands over first a wrench and then pliers.

“But where is it? What's the rent? How big is it?” She says, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Jane sighs and turns away from her mad scientist machine to face her and speaks with exaggerated patience.

“All I know is it's a one bedroom in Bed-Stuy. Call the number and Clint can give you all the details.”

“I don't know where Bed-Stuy is, but you're the best boss in the world,” she says to Jane.

“Foster, is this a 3 or a 5?” Tony pipes up from his work station. “Your handwriting is terrible.”

Jane shoots a glare at Tony before asking Darcy, “Then why don't I have coffee?”

“Because I worry about your blood pressure. But today? You can have all the coffee you want,” Darcy chirps, dashing for the door.

***

One expensive but extremely justified break of her current lease later, and Darcy finally moves into her very own one bedroom apartment. The Brooklyn neighborhood of Bed-Stuy is trendy, but still dirty. Filled with beautiful million dollar Brownstones, great restaurants that Darcy will probably never have the cash to go try out, and a mugger on every corner. If she’s lucky, it takes 45 minutes via the subway to get to the Tower and another 45 from there to Columbia for her classes, but the crime rate and the commute are worth it if she never again has to watch someone excavate their own ingrown toenail.

The move in process had been kind of weird, which Darcy chalked up to the building owner being a friend of Jane’s. Or a friend of a friend of Jane’s? A Jane on the verge of discovery was not a Jane you wanted to badger for details. But if it meant she didn't have to live with an amateur Dr. Pimple Popper anymore, Darcy could deal with some low grade weirdness.

Still, all of the paperwork happened via a surly bike courier named Aimee, who apparently lived in the building too, and two real life superheroes helped her move her furniture. Weird by anyone’s standards. On top of that, it’s weeks before she even meets her landlord and it’s in the most embarrassing way possible. Well, okay. Darcy can think of worse, but it’s still pretty undignified.

Turns out grad school and living in the most populated city in America were both pretty stressful experiences. So much so, that by the time Darcy makes it home one Friday evening, she doesn’t even bother to hang up her bag and coat or pour herself a much-deserved glass of wine, just starts stripping, leaving her clothes and underthings wherever they may fall.

Within minutes, her faithful vibrator is doing it’s best to work out all that nasty tension that’s been gathering in her body. She’s nearly about to hit her first orgasm, of what will hopefully be many, when someone rudely pounds on her front door.

Darcy ignores it. She bites her lip and let's out a soft whimper as she writhes with the relentless vibrations of her toy. She’s close, she's so close, and--

The jerk at the door leans on the doorbell and Darcy lets out a little scream of frustration as the feeling she's chasing vanishes. Another five minutes and she can find it again, but she sighs and opts to find out what’s so urgent instead. She flicks off the vibrator and tosses it onto the bed next to her and scrambles to throw on a too-small Iron Man T-shirt from Tony’s box of goodies and a pair of men’s boxers from the floor. Not something she'd usually answer the door in, but whatever. Whoever was at the door was interrupting a much needed self-love session. They could deal.

“I’m coming, God, shut up!”

 _Or at least I would be if you’d fuck off._ She adds silently.

The view through the peephole shows the back of some blond guy’s head and the stoner professor who lives across the hall, chatting in the hallway. Prof. Pothead doesn't look worried by this guy's presence, but he’s a man, so what does he know about stranger danger? Just to be safe, Darcy leaves her chain lock in place when she opens the door. She’d get her taser out of her bag too, but it's tangled in a heap with her coat and scarf somewhere behind her.

“Can I help you?”

Blond Guy doesn't turn until Prof. Pothead points over at her. Then he disappears inside his apartment, absolutely no help at all if this guy turns out to be a rapist or a stalker. When he does turn, Darcy’s breath actually fucking catches in her throat. He’s ruggedly handsome in a wholesome, cornfed kind of way that makes her banked arousal come roaring back and has the kind of physique that makes her think he’d have no trouble holding her up against the side of a barn while he pounded into her. Darcy mentally files that thought away for the jill till and gives him her best smile. She’s already regretting this being her first impression on him and he hasn’t even said a word.

“Hey, it’s Darcy, right? I’m Clint, I own the building. Sorry I haven’t come by before now, but I’ve been out of town.”

“Oh! Hang on.” She closes the door the release the chain and opens it again, frowning as she remembers their only previous interaction. “Yeah, we spoke on the phone for like 30 seconds and then you kind of hung up on me.”

“Aww, phones. Not great with phones. I’m mostly deaf, so.” He shrugs and gives her a sheepish grin. “Uh, but texting is good, or just come by my place on the top floor. I’m there most of the time.”

He winces like he realizes he forgot to make that sound professional. “I mean, if you have any problems with your apartment. Everything good so far? You get moved in okay?”

“Sure, everything’s peachy.”

“Good. Great.” He winces again and rubs the back of his neck.

 _Oh God. He's hot AND adorable._ Darcy silently despairs.

“So Aimee was supposed to tell you about the roof, but she said she forgot. S’fine, it's not really her job, it's mine. But you’ve been missing out on a good time. We all get together up there most nights when the weather is nice and make kind of a potluck of it. You should come by and I'll introduce you to the rest of the building.”

“Um, well…” Darcy starts. She was kind of done dealing with people hours ago and now she's already in her comfy clothes.

“But hey, if I'm interrupting something, just tell me to get lost,” Clint says.

His mouth twitches like he’s stifling a smile and his eyes dart over her shoulder and Darcy registers that this is the first time he’s looked away from her face. It feels deliberate, like he's been using his peripheral vision to carefully catalogue every item within view. Like say, a lacy maroon bra draped over a lampshade and a matching pair of panties on the floor in front of her bedroom door. Darcy’s never seen someone blush in real life like she reads about people doing in novels, but her whole face feels hot and she’d bet cold, hard cash that she's blushing to her roots right now.

“Nope. Nothing to interrupt,” Darcy’s laugh sounds strained even to her own ears. Well shit, now she has to go. “Just let me put on some real clothes and I'll be up.”

“Sure.” The smile blooms on his face and he shifts his weight, propping his shoulder against the door jamb. “So is he your favorite?”

New Yorkers, Darcy has found, are passionate about their superheroes. Say you like the wrong one and you’ll end up in an hour long argument about why Wolverine’s healing factor is way cooler than Power Man’s bulletproof skin and Darcy is pretty done with this particular interaction. There’s nothing like being embarrassed by a super hot guy to make you feel like an awkward pre-teen again. She needs to get back into her sexy, expensive underwear and her shit-kicking motorcycle boots so she can reclaim a little bit of her dignity.

“Nah. He's kind of an asshole, actually. The shirt was free. So, I’ll see you up there?”

Clint’s crooked smile brightens further and he leaves her with a promise to see her later. The smug smile and general sense of satisfaction he exudes make no damn sense, but maybe Brooklynites have a hate-on for Iron Man the way all of Queens worships Spider-man. Regardless, Darcy gets a little thrill from causing it.

***

Up on the roof, there's sure enough, about a dozen people already enjoying themselves. Most of them she's seen coming and going and she gets a few nods and some looks that are curious, but not uninviting. Still, she gravitates to where Clint is manning the grill rather than jump right into mingling.

He hands her a beer from the ice chest at his feet and makes small talk while he doles out whatever meat people have brought for him to cook, making introductions as they come get their food.

So far everyone has been pleasant, but none of them have lingered to get to know her either. That wouldn't normally bother Darcy, but there's something homey and warm about the way these people interact with each other, like they're all just one big, extended family and every night’s the family reunion.

Darcy’s real family is… well, it's fine. Nobody abused her and she always had plenty of food and toys and anything she asked for, really. But it was just her and her parents and some cousins who lived in Canada. Growing up, her parents both worked a lot and the time they did spend at home, they either sniped at each other constantly or ignored each other in favor of sniping at her.

Getting into Culver should have been an escape, but since it was only 30 minutes away, they demanded she live at home and commute. Then Jane’s internship had come along and well… Jane had been a godsend, if Darcy was being perfectly honest.

“And you already know Aimee and her girlfriend is uh, Hera?” Clint says, pulling her out of her sad sack reverie.

“Cara,” Aimee corrects, holding her hand up in a C. She and Cara are curled up on a single lounge chair about ten feet away and have apparently been eavesdropping while making out.

“Right, Cara,” he says, looking a little upset that he got the consonant wrong.

If he’s wearing hearing aids, Darcy can't see them and she makes a mental note to turn toward him when she speaks just in case he relies on lip reading.

“Yo, Tito! Burger’s ready,” Clint calls.

A tall, skinny Black man comes over and Clint makes a quick introduction as he hands over the plate. Tito gives her a shy smile and a nod, then narrows his eyes at Clint.

“You actually cook it this time, man?”

Clint huffs. “Yes. I promise you it's the perfect shade of gray and tastes like dry sadness.”

“Excellent,” Tito says and rejoins the domino game near the roof’s edge.

“Let me guess,” Darcy says once it's just her and Clint again. “You'd rather scare the cow with a flashlight and walk it through the kitchen?”

Clint lets out a surprised laugh. “Well I usually say I want a good vet to be able to revive my leftovers, but yeah.”

“Ugh, gruesome but delicious,” Darcy says with a wry grin. “Jeez, I haven't had a decent steak since I left New Mexico. Norway was nothing but fish, London was basically curry every day, and here anything better than ramen and hot dogs is pretty firmly out of my budget.”

“Oh Darcy, you're not an animal murderer, too, are you?” Aimee cries.

“Ignore her,” Clint says and then proceeds to do the exact opposite. “Hey Aims, how do you know if a dinner guest is vegan?”

Aimee sniffs condescendingly. “Don't worry, they’ll tell you.”

“Aw come on, don't step on my punchline.” Clint tilts his head. “Wait, you knew I was telling a joke, right?”

Aimee just rolls her eyes and goes back to nuzzling Cara’s neck while Darcy chuckles softly at his bemusement.

“Might want to stick to your day job,” she says.

“Hey, I'll have you know that making bad jokes is an intrinsic part of my day job,” Clint says.

Darcy wants to ask exactly what that job entails since he apparently knows Jane, who basically lives at work. She knows better than to judge people by their appearances but well, Clint doesn't exactly put off a scientist vibe. Before she can ask though, Clint distracts her with more introductions.

“Anyway, who haven't you met yet? Over here, we got Simone, her kids, and Mrs. Balanchuk. She makes these donut things, you gotta try ‘em.”

“Verguny. Please, have some,” the older of the two women says. Her English is accented, but clear, and she holds out a plate of twisty pastries covered in powdered sugar. Darcy ventures closer to sample one, shaking the excess sugar off before taking a bite. They’re crispy on the outside and doughy on the inside, kind of reminding her of churros.

“Mmm, very good. Thank you!” Darcy mumbles around a mouthful.

“My pleasure, dear. Welcome to the building. Here, have another.”

“So what do you do, Darcy?” Simone asks while simultaneously wiping ketchup off her son’s face.

And just like that, Darcy is pulled into the ebb and flow of the rooftop conversation and away from Clint. Despite the distance between them, Darcy can still feel the weight of his gaze on her. When she looks up, they share a brief smile before one of her new neighbors calls her attention away again.

***

Jane calls her into the lab on one of her days off, which wouldn't be suspicious in and of itself, but when she gets there, Tony Stark and Bruce Banner are also waiting for her. There's a distinct air of principal’s office about this meeting, but Darcy doesn't think she’s done anything lately to deserve a verbal spanking.

“Hey Science Bros,” Darcy greets them with false cheer. “What’s the haps?”

“Thor is taking me to Asgard so that I can take some readings of the Bifrost,” Jane says. She looks like she’s bracing for a bad reaction from Darcy, but pure excitement shines in her eyes.

“For how long?” Darcy asks. The sudden weight of dread for her financial future makes her knees buckle and she sits heavily in the nearest desk chair.

“It's only for a couple of weeks. Three at most,” Jane says.

“I'm very happy for you that you get to take a fun Asgardian vacation, but you know that I need money to live, right? And in order to earn money, I need to actually work? Part time employees don’t get vacation days, Jane.”

“That's where we come in. Sign this,” Tony says and sets what Darcy recognizes as a standard non-disclosure agreement in front of her.

Darcy arches an eyebrow at him, but signs on the indicated line without comment. She’s had to sign a whole ream’s worth of these things since she started working with Jane. Somebody should just give her Top Secret clearance and be done with it.

“It's all you, buddy,” Tony says, slapping Bruce on the back.

“Right,” Bruce begins. He shifts his weight and clears his throats and finally sighs before saying, “while Jane is gone, you can come work for me. If you want. If not, Tony said he could probably find you some busy work with one of the other departments until Jane gets back.”

“Okaaay,” Darcy says. “What am I missing? Pretty sure the CEO isn't supposed to supervise the reshuffling of lab assistants.”

“Actually, Pepper’s the CEO, but you're right. I'm mostly here for moral support. Come on big guy, spit it out.”

Tony slaps Bruce on the back again, earning himself mild looks of disapproval from both Bruce and Jane.

“Please stop that,” Bruce says, inching his rolly chair away. “Okay. Darcy, whenever my heart rate rises above a certain level, it triggers a metabolic reaction which causes me to transform. I haven't had an uncontrolled transformation in over a year now, but if you're going to be working with me, it's important that you know the sort of danger you would be putting yourself in.”

“What sort of ‘transformation’ are we talking about here? Is this the part where I learn werewolves are real?”

“Um. No.”

“He’s the Hulk,” Jane blurts out. “Sorry. You guys were taking forever and I need to go pack.”

“Oh,” Darcy says. Her voice might have gone a little high there. Just a little.

“The Other Guy is pretty well tucked away until we need him, but just in case, your physical proximity to me would be minimal. You could work at your regular desk if you want and I'd stay in my lab. You would just check in with me once or twice a shift. And again, you don't have to say yes for fear of losing work hours. This is just the option that keeps you doing the same kind of tasks you already do with Jane.”

“He's a teddy bear, really,” Tony says. Like he can't stand not being the one talking for even a minute. “And if I'm being honest, he needs the help. Keeps running off perfectly good assistants and doing all of the grunt work himself.”

“Yeah, you wouldn't know anything about that,” Bruce says.

Darcy is very pleased to find that Bruce has a firm grasp on sarcasm. That's going to be a necessity if Darcy is going to work with him. And pants-shittingly terrifying alter ego or not, Darcy does want to help him. Something about the hunch in his shoulders, like he's sure Darcy won't want to be near him now that she knows the truth, makes her want to prove that she won't treat him any differently, or at least won’t make him feel like a freak.

“So will this work for you?” Jane asks. She looks like she's going to start tapping her foot with impatience any second.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Go pack. Kick Loki in the nuts for me if you see him.”

“You got it. Okay, be good, and I'll see you in a few weeks.”

Jane gives her a hug, which Darcy chalks up to her giddiness because they aren’t normally huggers. She squeezes back all the same, muttering “okay, _Mom_ ,” into Jane’s hair.

***

Gamma radiation research is boring. Darcy wouldn’t have thought so considering its drastic effects on the human body, but nope. Boring.

The first two days, Darcy had stayed at her own desk as promised, but there’s only so much Facebook and Tumblr a girl can take, and she eventually ventured into Bruce’s lab in hopes of more excitement. Not like, Jolly Green Giant levels of excitement, but you know, _something_. Day three of working for Bruce has thus far involved not much more than fetching tea and staring at Bruce while he stares at a computer screen. So really, Darcy can hardly be blamed for babbling. The silence just makes her crazy.

“...so then the _next_ time I saw him, of _course_ it just had to be laundry day and of _course_ the only thing I had clean were these totally ugly pajama pants Tony gave me. They’re meant to look like when you turn into the green guy, but somehow your pants are still on, you know? And my hair was a total mess and I still had smush marks from my pillow on my face. I swear, it's like I'm not even going to be able to step foot outside of my apartment without at least a solid hour of grooming first.”

Darcy pauses for breath and Bruce hums in agreement like he's been doing every now and then to show that he's listening. She's sure he's faking it but it's nice of him to at least pretend.

“How do your pants do that anyway? Not even Lycra can stretch that much.” She's not expecting an answer, just ramping up for her next stream of consciousness ramble, but Bruce shocks the hell out of her by replying.

“‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’”

“You're saying your pants are magic?”

“No, I'm saying I haven't looked into what causes it, so it might as well be.” Bruce closes out a window on his monitor and spins in his chair to face her. “Why don't you just ask him out? You like him and you said all of your conversations have gone well.”

“That's not even close to what I said!” Darcy protests. She knew he wasn't really listening.

“Sure it is. You got a little embarrassed because you feel like he’s seen you at your worst, but it sounds like there was definite flirting. So if he’s seen you when you aren't all dolled up and he’s still interested, isn't that a good thing?”

“The pants said “Incredible” on the butt,” Darcy says with a flat stare. Bruce clearly doesn't understand just how awful the pants were.

Bruce blanches. “Jeez, that's terrible. Tony isn't really going to put those into production, is he?”

“But what if you're wrong and he _doesn’t_ like me but then he’ll know that I like _him_?” Darcy asks. They're getting away from the importance of the topic at hand.

“Well, I guess you'll just have to go to the Enchantment Under the Sea dance all by yourself,” Bruce says dryly.

Darcy rolls her eyes, huffs, and heads for the door. “Thanks for nothing, Dr. Love. More tea?”

“Yes, but steep for only three minutes this time!” he calls after her. “It gets bitter when you leave it too long.”

Darcy leaves the bag in for four minutes. _Whoops._

***

Clint stops by her apartment one morning not long after Jane and Thor return from Asgard with the weak excuse of delivering some misplaced junk mail. She invites him in, eager to show off that not only is she dressed, but her apartment isn't decorated with lingerie this time. Darcy gleefully dumps the mail in the trash and invites him to sit at the kitchen counter.

“I was just finishing breakfast. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, black’s good.”

Darcy hands over the mug and turns to refill her own. When she turns back, she's dismayed to see Clint scowling down at the mug like it's personally offended him.

“Is there something wrong with it?” Darcy asks. It's not like she hoped to win his heart through his stomach like in pre-feminist days of yore, but she didn't want to accidentally poison him either.

“Huh? No, no. The coffee’s fine. Best I've had in a while, actually.”

“Thanks. It's not the kind birds poop out or anything, but it's pretty much the only thing I ever splurge on, so it's pretty good stuff.”

Clint hums noncommittally and continues glaring down at his coffee. Or, not the coffee, Darcy realizes, but the _mug_.

All of her mugs are sort of geeky. The one in her hand for instance, reads “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation” in the the Stranger Things font. She hadn't put any thought into the one she gave Clint, just grabbed whatever was in the front of the cupboard, which happened to be the one she got from Tony that was shaped like Captain America’s head.

“So what’s the matter then? Does he owe you money? He’s a nice guy, you know.”

“What? I know he’s nice. I just feel like I'm drinking out of his skull or something.”

Darcy tries not to laugh. She tries. But Clint’s face is so disgruntled that the giggles burst right out of her. Wordlessly, she takes the Cap mug from him and pours the coffee into a new mug. This one has lightsabers that look like they turn on when it’s filled with hot liquid.

“Better?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He smiles at her and Darcy’s insides go all warm and gooey. What the hell, she decides. Bruce is a certified genius and she'd be dumb to ignore his advice. Darcy can be a grown up about this and just go for it.

“Do you want to get some dinner tonight? Maybe eat something that isn't grilled on a Hibachi for a change?” Darcy asks.

“Tonight?” Clint’s voice goes all high and weird. “Tonight’s uh… Tonight’s no good. I have some work stuff to take care of.”

“Oh. Sure,” Darcy says, pasting a bright smile on her face. “An old building like this probably has lots of stuff to take care of.”

“No. I mean, yeah, it does, but this is more of a day job thing. Sort of.”

“I get it,” Darcy says, her smile starting to slip. Boy does she get it. She took a chance, got turned down, and now things are going to be more awkward than ever. Being a grown up sucks.

“Darcy, I--”

“Gosh, would you look at the time? I have to get going. Sorry you can't finish your coffee, but I didn't realize how late it was.”

Darcy yanks the mug out of Clint’s hand, hot coffee sloshing over the rim and splattering the countertop.

“Fuck!” Darcy exclaims. She does a quick check of her outfit, and is grateful everything seems to be clean. If she had to go change now, she really would be late. When she looks up again, Clint is already halfway to the door.

“I'm gonna get out of your hair. I'll see you later, yeah?”

He's out the door before she can even think of a response, which is fine, because she doesn't have one.

***

Rejection, go figure, makes Darcy cranky. She lasts maybe two hours in the lab before she annoys the shit out of herself with her own bad attitude and decides the only possible cure is overpriced coffee and fifteen minutes away from Jane’s rapidly deteriorating patience. She heads downstairs to the lobby cafe before Jane can kick her out, promising to come back in a better mood.

Of course, because the Universe has decided to fuck with her today, the next person to come in is Steve Rogers with a beautiful, chic redhead at his side. Steve’s a great guy. On any other day, Darcy would be happy to see him, but today it's just a crap cherry on top of the crap sundae of her day.

For the record, Darcy fully realizes she’s taking the whole self-pity thing a bit far. People get rejected all the time. Hell, it's not like it's a first for her either. But she really likes Clint and she’s not looking forward to the inevitable awkwardness of their next meeting. All she wants is one good day of wallowing and then she can pretend like nothing happened.

Hiding seems like a good option at first, but the barista yells out her name just as Steve and his companion finish paying for their drinks and she's forced to come out from behind the condiment bar and acknowledge their presence. Steve, actual ray of human sunshine that he is, greets Darcy with a hug that manages to make her feel about 10% better.

“Have you ladies met?” Steve asks and at their mutual head shake, makes introductions. “Nat, this is Darcy Lewis, Dr. Foster’s lab assistant. Darcy, this is Natasha Romanov. She’s…”

“A private contractor,” Natasha smoothly interjects. Not suspicious at _all_. “It's nice to meet you, Darcy. Jane says you're an invaluable asset to her work.”

Darcy’s flattered, but she hardly thinks Jane would have used those exact words.

“So how are you liking the new neighborhood? Brooklyn treating you alright?” Steve asks, but before Darcy can answer, he tells Natasha, “Thor and I helped Darcy move into Clint’s building a while back.”

Natasha smiles fondly, “I still can't believe he owns an apartment building. I saw him try to fix a sink once in Belarus and it was like watching an Abbott and Costello routine.”

 _Does everybody know Clint?_ Darcy wonders. _And what the hell were they doing in Belarus?_

“I think he hires out for all the maintenance work, but I did find _Home Maintenance for Dummies_ in the laundry room one time,” Darcy offers.

She had teased Clint about it mercilessly too. God, every instance of her shameless flirting is so much more embarrassing in retrospect.

“Well he is a constant surprise,” Natasha says.

“He is,” Darcy agrees. To her absolute mortification, Darcy’s eyes well up just thinking about Clint struggling to learn plumbing so he can be a better landlord.

“Hey, Darcy, everything alright?” Steve asks. He touches her arm gently, but there's the panic in his eyes that some guys get when faced with a crying woman.

“Yeah, yes.” Darcy blinks her tears away and forces a smile. “Totally fine. I had my heart stomped on this morning, so I'm feeling a little off, but it's no big. I really need to get back to the lab, but it was nice running into you. Natasha, nice to meet you.”

It may have been a little rude to leave so abruptly, but Darcy just can't handle any more small talk today. It's not until she gets to the elevator that Darcy realizes why Natasha looked so familiar. She just made a weepy fool of herself in front of the freaking Black Widow.

Darcy lets out a muffled scream of frustration and bangs her head against the side of the otherwise empty elevator. When she gets back to the lab, Darcy puts her earbuds firmly in her ears and doesn't take them out again until she gets home that evening.

***

The sun has just set when Darcy decides she deserves some ice cream. Putting her bra back on to go buy some sounds like a miserable prospect, but there's a bodega on the corner and she figures she can probably run out and back in less than ten minutes.

That is, until she opens the main door to the building and finds Clint out there, watching the empty street with a freaking longbow in his hand and a quiver hanging from his waist.

“Get back inside,” he says, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Some shit’s about to go down.”

“What kind of shit? And what are you going to do about it with a freaking bow and arrow? If there’s going to be trouble, we should call the police.”

Darcy already has her phone out, fingers poised, but Clint whirls on her, his face intimidating and serious in way she's never seen from him before. He turns her around by the shoulders and tries to herd her to the door, but Darcy digs her heels in.

“The police aren’t going to help for this. Get inside!” he insists.

“Oh, and just leave the safety of a building full of people to some LARPer with a cheap bow he bought at a Ren Faire? No thanks.”

Darcy flicks away from her phone’s keypad and starts scrolling through her contact list instead. No police? Fine, she has something better than the police. Jane had said Thor was taking her out tonight, and Darcy had already pissed off her boss enough for one day. But Tony might still be in the lab and would probably take her call. Probably.

“Ren Faire?” Clint splutters. “What the hell are you talking about? Listen, I got this. Who the hell are you calling? I told you the police can’t help.”

“I’m calling Iron Man. He owes me a favor.” Darcy bluffs and puts the phone to her ear. Before it can ring, Clint tears it out of her hand and mashes his thumb on the end call button.

“Oh for Christ’s sake. Do _not_ call Tony,” he says.

“What, now you’re on first name basis with Iron Man? Who are you?”

“He’s an Avenger, honey.” Darcy looks up to see Simone hanging out of her third floor window. “Come on inside like he said. Hawkeye’s got our back.”

Clint nods a thanks up at Simone and briefly meets Darcy’s wide, incredulous eyes before gazing out into the street again. “Sorry, thought you knew. Please go inside so I know you’ll be safe.”

Darcy doesn’t answer, just snatches her phone back from him and heads back up to her apartment, furiously texting Jane all the way.

**To Jane Foster:  
did you know my landlord is an avenger???**

**From Jane Foster:  
Did I not tell you that? **

**To Jane Foster:  
NO JANE. NO YOU DID NOT TELL ME THAT.**

**From Jane Foster:  
Relax. Clint’s a nice guy. And I thought you liked the team. **

**To Jane Foster:  
Liking him isn’t the issue. He’s outside the building right now holding off some unknown threat like a one-man pre-industrial army! **

There’s about a minute of tense silence while Darcy waits for Jane’s next response. She’s dying to know what’s going on out front, but her windows face the alley in back and it’s probably not wise to go up to the roof and peek over the edge. All sorts of crazy shit attacks New York. She could get hit by a stray bullet or a plasma blast or a plague of frogs. Who the fuck knows?

**From Jane Foster:  
Thor’s on his way and he called Steve since he’s staying at his apartment in Brooklyn this weekend. They should both be there soon. Take a deep breath, have some wine, and call me if you start hearing explosions. **

**To Jane Foster:  
living in New York has made you remarkably blasé about life threatening situations**

**From Jane Foster:  
Not really. Pepper hooked me up with a Xanax prescription. **

**To Jane Foster:  
sorry if I screwed up date night **

**From Jane Foster:  
You can pay me back in extra hours in the lab. Or chocolate’s always good.**

A few minutes later, a flash of lightning lights up the dark and cloudless sky and Darcy breathes a sigh of relief. Sure, Clint-- _Hawkeye_ \-- may have been able to handle things himself, but she’s seen the big guy in action and it’s not like having the God of Thunder on their side will hurt.

Eventually, Darcy takes Jane’s advice and pours herself an enormous glass of wine and settles in with her laptop to look up the elusive sixth member of the Avengers.

There isn't much on him, since Tony and Steve handle most of the team publicity. A few blurry cell phone videos manage to capture him on a rooftop here and there, but if Darcy didn't already know it was him, she's not sure she’d be able to tell.

A couple hours and a bottle and a half of wine later, there’s a polite pounding on her door. She opens it to find a smiling Thor and the sudden rush of relief makes her a little dizzy.

“The threat has passed, and I do not think you will be bothered by those fellows again,” he says.

A steady thumping on the stairs draws their attention and they both watch as Clint stomps past on his way to his place on the top floor. He doesn’t look their way and his face is stony, the set of his shoulders rigid as he disappears beyond their view.

“Is he mad that I got you guys involved?” Darcy asks.

Thor hesitates before answering. “Barton is a fierce and accomplished warrior and though Captain Rogers and I were glad to be able to join him in this fight, I believe he could have been victorious on his own.” He pauses and Darcy can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “In Asgard, we have no local law enforcement as you do here. There is a standing army which defends the citizens from outside threats, but small arguments and home defence is by and large left up to the people to sort out amongst themselves. Being able to defend your household against outside threats is a point of pride.”

“So you’re saying Clint would fit in just fine with the Asgardians and I wounded his pride by calling in back-up.”

Thor shrugs. “More or less.”

“Right.” Darcy sighs and thumps Thor on the arm. “Well thanks for coming anyway.”

“It was my pleasure, little sister,” Thor says.

He wraps her in a quick, but comforting hug before going and Darcy heads to bed, exhausted from the wine and the stress. Any apologies she may or may not need to make can wait.

***

Darcy literally crashes into Clint in the Stark Tower lobby the next day. She’d been looking down at her phone, trying to decide on the perfect walking to the subway song and ran right into him. He catches her by the waist when she windmills backwards and keeps hold until she finds her footing again.

“Clint? What are you doing here?”

She takes a big step back, seriously wigged out that he would track her down at work like this. She glances not so subtly over her shoulder at the stoic lobby security guards, not that she's sure they'd be able to do much against a frigging Avenger.

“Take it easy, I’m here for work. You know, the day job,” he says.

Clint stuffs his hands in his pockets and does a damn good job of appearing nonthreatening. It's a sharp contrast from the figure he cut the night before and Darcy hates that it works on her, the tightness in her shoulders easing just a bit.

“Right. Your day job as a superhero.”

Clint’s mouth twists unhappily. “I guess I owe you an explanation, huh? Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

They end up crammed into a tiny corner table at the crowded lobby cafe. An oversized black coffee for him, and one of the expensive desserty espresso drinks she loves but never wants to spend money on for Darcy. She figures if he’s buying to make up for last night, might as well really make him pay.

“So uh… I'm sorry. I didn't realize you didn't know. Jane really didn't tell you?”

“She's great at interdimensional science. Not so great at interpersonal relationships.”

“And nobody else…?” Clint waved his hands vaguely, casting about for some sort of excuse.

“Aimee called you Robin Hood one time but I thought it was just some weird in-joke. You might want to consider putting together some sort of welcome packet. You know, ‘nightly social mixers on the roof are BYOB. Don't leave laundry in the washer unattended. Beware of building owner’s stray arrows and occasional showdowns with outlaws. Bee tee dubs, he’s a _superhero_!’”

“I thought you knew! Lots of people know!”

“Oh my God, are you Hawkeye?” squeals a woman at the next table.

“Uh…” Clint has a legit deer in headlights look in his eyes that Darcy would find funny if she hadn't just worked herself up into a healthy indignant rage.

“You are! I'm so sorry to bother you, but could I get your autograph? My sister is a big fan and she’d kill me if I didn't at least ask.”

The woman is leaning into Clint’s personal space now, her floral perfume overwhelming in close quarters, and her chest at prime ogling height. Not that Clint is the kind of lech that would take advantage of that. Probably. Darcy feels like she might need to reassess her whole mental image of him.

“I don't have a pen,” Clint says, his smile boyish and apologetic.

“Oh, me neither,” the lady simpers. “Gosh, how embarrassing.”

“Positively humiliating,” Darcy mutters.

“Maybe your friend has one. That bag looks like it could hold just about anything.”

How in the world the lady makes being prepared seem distasteful and uncouth, Darcy doesn't know, but she manages. Still, Darcy digs around until she produces one of the five pens she has in there (that she knows of). Anything to help Ms. Predatory Gleam get a move on. Of course, _of course_ , the pen she hands over is one of Tony’s Avengers merch prototypes.

Clint signs a napkin and the lady finally skedaddles after she gets her autograph. (“And a picture? And a hug?”)

“See?” Clint says once she's left. ”Lots of people.”

He twirls the pen between his fingers and tilts his chair back on two legs with smug satisfaction. Darcy makes a grab for the pen, but he holds it out of reach, nearly overbalancing and falling on his ass trying to keep it away from her.

“If you're not a fan, why do you have all this stuff? Every time I turn around, you've got Tony on a shirt or Steve on a mug.” Clint’s smug smile morphs into a pout. “Or Bruce on your butt.”

“What’s the matter, Clint? Wish you had your face on my butt?” Darcy winces. “That didn’t-- Ugh, you know what I mean. Look, it’s like I told you with the Iron Man shirt: all of this stuff was free. I came in with an Avengers shirt one day, which I bought semi-ironically by the way, and suddenly Tony’s bestowing a bunch of merchandising prototypes on me as a thank you for inspiring what will presumably make you guys millions and millions of dollars.”

“Well there you go. This is really just a branding problem. Not enough representation of all team members,” Clint says, spreading his arms wide.

“You mean instead of a problem caused by you and your lack of communication?”

“Yeah, exactly.” He softens his arrogant words with an uncomfortable squirm of pure shame.

Darcy takes pity on him and lets the argument drop for now. “I asked about why there was no Hawkeye stuff, actually. Tony said, and I quote, “nobody’s gotten a good action shot of Katniss yet so we’ll have to wait on his stuff until he does some promotional shots’”

“Pfft, like hell.”

“Guess I'll have to make do with Hulk swag, then,” Darcy says with a careless shrug and takes a sip of her coffee to hide her smile at his sputtering consternation.

“Alright, I gotta go,” she says, getting to her feet with a sigh. “But I wanted to apologize, too. For calling in the cavalry last night? Thor said you had it handled.”

Clint stands too and gazes down at her, all previous levity gone. “No, you were right to call them if you felt you were in danger. And if you’re uncomfortable staying when I might attract more bad guys in the future, I’ll let you out of your lease. I haven’t given you any reason to trust me, Darcy. But I will.”

Then he drops the briefest of kisses on her forehead and leaves her standing in the middle of the crowded cafe wondering if it even happened.

***

Clint makes himself scarce for a while and the next time she sees him up close, he's stalking into the lab and carrying a cardboard box that's not all that dissimilar to the one Tony left for her. He's obviously post-workout, but pre-shower, his threadbare muscle tank nicely showcasing his biceps and his hair sticking up in sweat-damp little spikes. Darcy does not whimper at the sight, at least not out loud, but her brain sort of stutters and stalls as he walks straight over to her, eyes locked on hers with intense focus. He drops the box on her desk with a solid thump, gives her a sharp smile, and leaves again without a word.

Jane wanders over and lifts first a Hawkeye mug (not head-shaped) and then a Hawkeye calendar out of the box. “I think this is the superhero equivalent of asking you to wear his pin.”

“Ha, literally!” Darcy says, fishing out a 4-pack of buttons.

A couple have Clint’s face on them, one has “Hawkeye” and a stylised bow and arrow, and another just has a blue and purple target, which Darcy immediately pins onto the strap of her messenger bag.

“I thought you were still mad at him,” Jane says, flipping through the calendar.

“Eh. Kind of. Not really? I don't know, I think I was just scared. But now that I know who he is, I actually feel safer. I saw him chasing off a couple of taggers from our back alley last night and he installed security cameras last week. I think he's taking the whole ‘win my trust’ things seriously,” Darcy says, peering over Jane’s shoulder at the calendar.

The pictures for some months are just graphic designs of a bow and arrow or targets like the buttons and some are promotional shots of the whole team. Then Jane stops on July, Darcy’s birth month, and lets out a low whistle. Clint-- scratch that-- _Hawkeye_ is in a crouch, his bow arm extended and pointed down, his free hand reaching for an arrow from his quiver. His sleeveless costume shows off every perfectly sculpted muscle to full effect and his eyes are staring straight at the camera, piercing and intense.

“Okay. Obviously I'm biased, so I can't say he's hotter than Thor,” Jane breathes, still staring at the picture.

“Oh, sure. Obviously,” Darcy says with an eye roll.

Jane continues as though Darcy hadn't spoken. “But that is a very good picture.”

“You want to go find Thor right now, don't you?” Darcy bumps shoulders with Jane and gives her a knowing grin.

“Kinda,” Jane admits, then shakes herself out of her haze. “Come on. Work now, boys later.”

“Ugh. You are no fun, Jane Foster,” Darcy whines, but she packs everything back into the box to lug home and properly admire in privacy later.

***

After that, Clint starts popping up all over the Tower. Darcy meets him in hallways, on the elevator. He even hangs out in the lab with her, making medieval siege weapons out of all her office supplies until Jane chases them both out because she can't concentrate.

With whatever readings she got from her Asgardian excursion, Jane has been firmly in writing mode since she got back. It's nice to have a less manic version of her friend back, even if she is kind of grumpy, but it means Darcy has next to nothing to do. For a change of pace, she drops by Bruce’s lab to do nothing around him for a while. At least he doesn't glare daggers at her if she dares to talk while he works.

“Now that we're both like, _aware_ that we work here, he's been riding into the city with me whenever he has to come to the Tower. And since he knows I like to get my reading for class done on the train, he doesn't even try to talk unless we’re walking. Just sits there and glares at anyone who gets too close. I feel like I should probably be offended that he doesn't think I can take care of myself but it's kind of nice, you know? I feel like I have my own personal bodyguard.”

“Did Clint come with you today?” Bruce asks.

Like every time Bruce deigns to participate in Darcy’s rambles, it takes her a second to register his response.

“Today? Yeah. He said he was working out with Natasha I think. Do you think they had a thing? Because I get that he's like, quite a bit older than I am and he's probably been with tons of women. And/or men, I don't assume. I just don't know if I can compete with Natasha. Even a memory of her. And I'm not being all woe is me here, she's just unnaturally hot.”

Bruce grabs a file folder from his desk and hands his refillable travel mug to Darcy, so naturally she follows along as he leaves the lab and gets onto an elevator.

“And you know, I realize that this is all just a lost cause. I mean, he’s had plenty of chances to take me up on my offer, right? That kiss was totally just a neighborly, big brother-type sign of affection. Totally gave me mixed signals because of it being so soon after I asked him out, but you know, it's fine.”

The elevator doors open onto a level Darcy has never been on before and she quiets down as they head for one of only two doors on the whole floor. They step inside what turns out to be a massive and well-appointed gym just in time to see Natasha deliver a flurry of strikes to Clint's rapidly weakening blocks.

Their entrance catches the corner of Clint’s eye and he utters a shocked, “Darcy?!”

It's all the distraction Natasha needs and she takes him down with an extraordinarily cool flip kick to the chest that sends Clint sprawling on the mat. She follows through, kneeling on his chest with a fist inches from his face, but he doesn't make any effort to move.

“Pathetic,” Natasha sniffs, leaving Clint on the mat. “Darcy, good to see you again. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I'm not really sure,” Darcy says, although the creeping horror in her gut says otherwise. “Bruce, what are we doing here?”

“Oh, well Darcy had something she wanted to share with Clint, so I thought I'd just bring her down here,” Bruce says, cool as a cucumber.

“Traitor!” Darcy hisses.

“There he is,” he says with a little nudge to her back and slipping his mug out of her hand. “Talk to _him_.”

Clint’s still playing dead fish over on the mat, so it looks like he's thankfully missed most of their conversation, but Natasha appears to have caught every word. She finishes patting down the dewy glow her exertion has caused and tucks her hand into Bruce's elbow.

“I was thinking of getting some tea,” she says.

“Oh good, me too,” Bruce says, leading her out of the gym.

Then it's just Darcy and Clint, who may have died. No. No, his chest moved, so he's still breathing. He rolls his head in her direction and cracks an eyelid to squint pitifully up at her. Damnit. Bruce is right, she really needs to just get this conversation over with. Stupid geniuses.

Settling cross-legged at his side on the mat, Darcy opens her mouth and closes it. Opens. Closes. It's Clint who ends up being the one to break the silence.

“At first I thought you just wanted to say hi or mock my pain, but now I'm genuinely worried. What's wrong?”

“Um. Okay, so I'm like ridiculously into you,” Darcy says in a rush. “And it's totally fine that you're not. I mean, the friendzone is bullshit. But trying to be your friend makes it really, really difficult to get over you. So. We maybe should stop. Being friends.”

She'd been staring at her hands during her little speech and when she finally meets his eyes, the idiot looks thoroughly shocked.

“Come on, you knew. Don't act like you didn't know,” Darcy says.

Clint rolls up to sit across from her, close, but not touching. “I knew you were interested a month ago, before you knew I was Hawkeye. You seemed pretty upset about that, though. I thought you just wanted to hang out.”

“I was upset,” Darcy agrees, then shrugs. “I got over it. You said you wanted to earn my trust and you have. Anyway, I'm not mad at you or anything. I just need to take a step back. If not for my own sake, then Bruce’s. He's apparently really tired of listening to me talk about you.”

“You talk about me with Bruce?” Clint says smiling, and Darcy feels her heart plummet into her stomach.

“That's not cool, Clint. I'm trying to be honest with you. Please don't be a dick about it.”

“Shit. No, that's not--” Clint visibly bites back whatever he was going to say before trying again. “Natasha’s pretty tired of hearing about you too.”

Darcy’s eyes go wide. “Oh.”

“Just so I'm being clear, I'm ridiculously into you too.”

“Yeah, no, I got it,” Darcy says breathlessly.

“Good.”

His knuckles brush against the back of hers and Darcy watches kind of in awe as their fingers tangle together. Her mouth twists as she tries to hold back a giddy smile.

“So, um. What now? Do we finally get dinner?”

“Dinner’s fine,” Clint says. “Or I was thinking bowling could be fun.”

“I haven't been in a while, but yeah, bowling could be fun,” Darcy agrees.

***

Bowling is not fun.

Oh sure, it started out well. There had been flirting and cheap drinks and unnecessary touching while Clint showed her how to hold the ball correctly. All things that should have been the makings for a great first date. And then all their unnecessary touching at the top of the lane had caused Clint to slip on the freshly waxed surface, which caused Darcy to slip, which caused the bowling ball in her hand to smack her in the head.

So ultimately, bowling leads to a headache and a trip to the ER for Darcy, with a contrite Clint in tow. They’re there maybe an hour just waiting and waiting before the boredom starts making Darcy antsy. This is not how this night was supposed to go.

The feel of her curious stare must finally be too much for Clint to handle because he finally sighs, turns, and asks, “what?”

“How much can you lift?”

Clint frowns. “A lot. Why?”

“Yeah, but you lift weights, right? What’s the most you can comfortably lift?”

“It's different for different exercises and it's not really about what’s _comfortable_. What's this about?”

“Just wondering how wall sex would work out. I've never trusted a guy to be strong enough to hold me up all the way through, but you look like you'd do just fine.” She gives his arm a little squeeze for emphasis.

Clint stares and then looks around the crowded waiting room for effect. Everyone’s minding their own business though, except for the nosy old lady across from them. Darcy smiles and waves and the lady goes back to her _People_ magazine with a superior sniff.

“You really have no filter, do you?”

“Are you kidding? I've got a great filter. You should hear the stuff that doesn't make it through.”

Like all of the times she's thought about licking her way up the side of his neck. Or going down on him in a Stark Tower supply closet. And now that she's seen the gym, she's got a whole new fantasy about surprising him in the locker room showers. Honestly, if he had any idea what went on in her head, he’d admire her restraint.

“Maybe we could wait until you've seen a doctor before we have this conversation.”

“Look, I've been concussed before. Amber Hartley took me out during my first and last ill-advised attempt at team sports and my head throbbed for a week. This?” Darcy pokes at the tiny, barely there, bump on her forehead. “This is barely a boo boo.”

“Humor me,” Clint grumps, then, “which sport did you play?”

Darcy sighs. “Field hockey. And before you ask, no, I do not have the skirt anymore.”

“I wasn't gonna…” Clint shifts in his chair before wisely changing the subject. “I just want to make sure you're okay.”

“And then wall sex?” Darcy persists. “Look, we've been dancing around this long enough. I've known how I wanted this night to end since we agreed on the date. I'm just trying to plan my evening.”

Clint looks deeply into her eyes, tucks her hair behind her ear, and says, “absolutely not.”

“Cliiiint,” Darcy whines.

“Listen, it's like you said. We've been dancing around this for a while now. One more night won't kill us. By the time we get out of here, it’ll be after midnight, you’ll be exhausted from the inevitable adrenaline crash, and that's not even taking into account whatever pain meds the doc gives you. Concussion or not, the only thing I'm doing to you after we get outta here is tucking you into bed and saying good night.”

Darcy opens her mouth to object but Clint places a finger on her lips.

“ _Because_ , when I do fuck you, and I most certainly will, I want you to enjoy and remember every second of it.”

Darcy's mouth snaps closed and her lips curl into a smile. “Alright, you make a valid argument. Tomorrow, though. I'm marking it on my new Hawkeye calendar.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Clint curls his arm around her shoulders and brings her into the solid warmth of his chest, where Darcy lets herself doze until her name is called.

***

Just like Darcy thought, the bump on her head is just that. It swells a little and turns a faint purple, but is easily covered with a little makeup and her hair. It hurts when she prods at it, but other than that she's fine. Totally good to go. Which makes it even more frustrating when the Avengers are called away for a mission that takes five long days.

Jane and Darcy are both agitated and they spend a couple of miserable days snapping at each other until Darcy demands they take an afternoon off and go watch something trashy in the residence to take their minds off of things.

Two episodes into the first season of The Royals and they're joined by the ethereal Pepper Potts. Proving that the rumors of her perfection are true, she come bearing popcorn, chocolate, and a pitcher of margaritas.

“Does it get easier?” Darcy asks her after a couple drinks.

“Yes,” she says with a bitter twist to her smile. “Because you either learn to cope or you end the relationship.”

“Gotta start the relationship first, though,” Darcy says.

“I've been there, too. Sucks, doesn't it?”

“Ugh, we’ve all been there,” Jane chimes in, reaching for the pitcher.

“You don't have any advice, though?” Darcy says just a touch desperately.

“Have another margarita,” Pepper says, refilling her glass and patting her hand gently.

***

Friday night, Darcy ventures up to the roof in an attempt to be social. Jeremy from 3B is handling the grilling since Clint is gone and it sounds like Larry (formerly Prof. Pothead) chose the music tonight, a world beats CD blaring out of an ancient boom box.

Darcy sets a plate of cookies down on the food table, dodging one of Simone’s boys as he runs past. She finds a group of neighbors and joins in on the easy conversation without really paying too much attention, just grateful for the distraction.

Later in the night, as things are winding down and people have started drifting back to their apartments, Darcy leans against the roof’s ledge, staring out at the city’s lights. She finishes the beer she's been nursing for over an hour and sighs. She should probably head down herself and try to get some sleep.

Just as she turns to go, Clint comes jogging up the stairs, stumbling to a halt when he sees her. If this were an 80s movie, this would be a great soundtrack moment. Darcy can practically hear the swell of the synthesizer as they move towards each other.

“Hey,” he says, stopping well inside her personal bubble.

“Hey yourself.”

“I was looking for you. How was your week?”

Small talk? _Really_? Well screw that.

“Not great, actually. I missed you. Not to mention, we had an appointment, mister,” she says, poking him hard in the chest. Unfortunately, he's so well toned, she probably hurts herself more than him.

“I can't control when bad guys decide to unleash their diabolical schemes,” he says, covering her hand with his. “But I missed you too. Think we can reschedule?”

The warmth of his hand and the sweep of his thumb over her knuckles makes her tingle all over and Darcy doesn't waste her breath playing coy.

“I'm free now,” she says, pulling him toward the stairs.

They go to his place since it's closer and Clint’s barely kicked the door closed before he's scooping her into his arms and carrying her through his apartment and up a set of stairs.

“You have a loft?!”

“Being the owner has its perks.”

He drops her onto his big, king-sized bed with a bounce and kicks off his sneakers while she shucks her boots. He joins her and they lie there on their sides, facing each other for a moment as Darcy feels all of her earlier bravado drain out of her. God, they haven't even kissed yet.

Like he can sense her thoughts, Clint leans in close and brushes her hair back behind her ear, mimicking that moment in the hospital waiting room. This time he doesn't stop, capturing her lips with his in a sweet and gentle kiss.

They separate and Darcy lets out a long and shaky breath before she dives back for more, pressing her whole body against his. Clint’s arms come around her and one of his hands settles high on her thigh, bunching the material of her skirt. Now that’s more like it.

The rough patches on his hand catch on her tights and Darcy reluctantly breaks contact. “Hang on, you’re going to snag them and I’d rather have you touch my skin anyway.”

“Skin is good,” Clint murmurs.

He stays close, kissing the jumping pulse at her throat while she wiggles out of her tights and since it’s easier to just push them off at the same time, she loses her panties too. When she finishes, he moves over her, slotting between her legs and biting a little at her collarbone.

It feels amazing having his weight on top of her and Darcy’s fingers tighten in the material of his shirt, dragging it up so she can get to his skin. He pulls away just long enough to sweep his shirt over his head and Darcy gives a hysterical little laugh at how deliriously turned on she is. Her whole body is screaming for friction and she’s still mostly clothed.

“Okay, wait. Up, up,” Darcy says, pushing at Clint’s shoulders until he sits back on his heels.

Quickly stripping off the rest of her clothes, Darcy leans over to dig through the nightstand in search of-- Aha! A condom.

“You in a hurry to be somewhere?” Clint asks, his head cocked curiously.

“I feel like the entire time we've known each other has been one long bout of foreplay. We can go slow next time. In fact, I insist. I just kinda feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get you inside of me right now,” Darcy says, reaching for his belt buckle.

“Okay, easy. Here,” Clint says, taking the condom from her and standing up to get rid of his pants. His cock springs free and Darcy’s mouth goes dry looking at it.

He rolls the condom on and gets back on the bed, hovering over her to kiss her deeply on the lips. Darcy rubs her leg against his impatiently, trying to urge him on, but he stubbornly remains on his hands and knees, barely touching her at all except for his lips. His kisses are soft and unhurried and Darcy has no choice but to surrender to Clint’s pace.

“That’s it, just relax,” he says, pressing his forehead to hers. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I got you.”

He finally pushes inside her and Darcy moans happily, kissing and biting at Clint’s lips. He's barely started thrusting into her when Darcy comes, the suddenness of it surprising her and leaving her gasping and blinking up at Clint.

“Did you just…?”

“Come faster than a teenage boy on prom night?” Darcy says. “Yeah, that uh. That happened.”

Clint looks a little bewildered, but he chuckles and leans down for another kiss.

“You good to go again?” He asks.

As her response, Darcy hitches her leg up high and rocks her hips up against his. Clint takes his cue and starts moving again and again, Darcy feels herself clenching around him almost instantly. She lasts a little longer this time, but pretty soon she's gasping and clawing at his back. Collapsing back onto the pillow once the tremors subside, she opens her eyes to see Clint watching her in awe.

“Goddamn you're sexy when you come,” he says, punctuating with a sharp roll of his hips. “But I’m not sure I deserve this rock star feeling you're giving me. You okay?”

“Nggh,” Darcy groans, hiding her face. “I don't know. Yes? You feel amazing, but I'm so keyed up it’s like I can't come all the way down.”

“What do you need?” he asks. His voice is slow and measured and his thrusts are careful and steady, but every movement still makes her quake around him.

“Less leverage I think? I keep screwing up the rhythm when I start coming and I kind of need you to just…” Darcy growls in frustration. “I don't know, just give it to me.”

She bites her lip and winces at her own inelegant phrasing. Despite being an unrepentant loud mouth in everyday life, Darcy has always shied away from dirty talk in the bedroom. Being talked to? Sexy, if done right. Doing the talking? Embarrassing in the way that makes Darcy want to light herself on fire.

“Okay, can you turn over onto your knees?” Clint asks, sitting back on his heels. “And grab onto the headboard. No, near the bottom.”

Clint’s hands guide her gently into position and at first Darcy is confused because she usually has more leverage on her knees, not less. Then he moves in behind her, sliding back inside her in one smooth stroke, and shoves her knees out wide, pulling her hips up high. Lastly, he pushes down between her shoulder blades until she has to turn her head to breathe and oh. Now she can barely move at all. Her arms are stretched out in front of her, hands wrapped around the metal rungs of his headboard, and all she can do is brace herself while Clint hammers into her, slow and steady.

The break to change positions had calmed her frenzy somewhat, but it's only a matter of seconds before she's clenching around him again. This time he doesn't stop and neither does her orgasm, building and rolling through her while he fucks her relentlessly until her limbs are shaking and she's practically sobbing with the force of her moans. Darcy knows she's probably being loud enough to wake the whole damn building, but all she can do is push her face into the mattress to muffle her cries.

When Darcy is sure she can't possibly take any more, Clint’s pace finally speeds up and his hands tighten on her hips. He slams into her a few more times and comes with a choked off curse and a spasmodic clenching of his hands.

He pulls out of her carefully, dropping a quick kiss on the small of her back as he goes, and Darcy unlocks her muscles just enough to collapse face down on the bed, completely spread eagle. Clint gets up to deal with the condom and clean himself up and when he gets back Darcy still hasn't moved an inch.

“You gonna share some of that bed?”

“I can't move.” She really needs to get up and go pee. Aside from just the basic bodily function, there's the whole UTI prevention, basic hygiene stuff. But nnngh. Darcy’s whole brain has shut down.

“I can make you move,” Clint says, nudging her splayed out foot playfully.

“Alright, alright. I have to pee anyway.” She scoops up her underwear and one of Clint’s shirts from the floor and heads for the bathroom on shaky legs.

Blinking back at her reflection in the harsh bathroom lighting is enough to make her doubt that what just happened was as earth-shatteringly good for Clint as it was for her. She comes out twisting the hem of his purple tee around her fingers and wishing she had brought her own clothes in with her just in case.

“So hey, no bullshit, but should I go?” Darcy flat out asks, because screw beating around this particular bush.

Clint sits up in a fluid movement that shows those spectacular abs of his aren't just for decoration. “You can go if you want to, but it's going to make my plan to make you breakfast in the morning a whole lot harder.”

“Mmm, pancakes?” Darcy inches closer to the bed and he hooks a hand around the back of her knee to pull her closer.

“I can do pancakes.” His mouth twists uncertainly. “Uhh, maybe. I definitely have eggs and bacon.”

“Oh, well if there's bacon, count me in,” Darcy says.

Lunging for her waist, Clint pulls her down onto the bed and manhandles her until he's spooned behind her. She's never had an easy time sleeping while someone is touching her, but the slow drag of his fingers through her hair, or maybe just their earlier exertions, has her drifting off within minutes.

***

Darcy wakes to find Clint sitting on the side of the bed, fully-dressed in his Hawkeye costume and backlit with a halo of sunlight. It's a delightful sight, but as usual, Clint has to ruin it by opening his mouth.

“Doombots have taken over Times Square.”

Darcy groans and shuts her eyes tight again. When she peeks them open again, Clint hadn't moved, but now he’s looking at her with fond amusement.

“They do that all the time. Just let them have it if they want it so bad,” she says.

“‘Fraid that's not an option, sweetheart.”

“It's what?” Darcy peers over at the clock on the nightstand. “Not even 8:30? Traffic is terrible right now. By the time you get over there, the fight’ll already be over. You should just stay.”

On cue, a horrible noise like someone holding a super sized hair dryer up to her ear comes from the general vicinity of the ceiling. Darcy smushes the pillow over her ears and glares at Clint since he’s obviously the cause.

“That’ll be Nat with the quinjet. Help yourself to whatever and stay as long as you like. We should be able to wrap this up pretty quickly.”

“Please be careful.”

“I'm always careful,” Clint says, but his face shows that even he knows that's a lie.

Then he gives her a swift, hard kiss and he's gone, the noise of the quinjet engines receding in the distance.

***

The key rattling in the lock wakes Darcy from a fitful doze and she tips her head back over the edge of the couch to watch Clint walk in. He looks tired, but he’s still in one piece and doesn't have any obvious injuries. Darcy breathes a sigh of relief she didn't know she was holding in.

“You're still here,” Clint says, sounding pleased.

She'd gone back to her own apartment to change, but had been too worried for his safety and only ended up pacing in front of the TV with the news on. She'd come back, since being surrounded by his stuff at least gave her a small measure of comfort and besides, she couldn't figure out how to turn his TV on.

“Is Times Square once again safe for the tourist hoards?”

“Well there's nothing we can do about the pickpockets, but all the fucking robots are gone.”

“Until next week.”

Clint sighs. “Until next week.”

He'd dropped his gear just inside the door and undressed to the waist as he made his way over to the couch. With a groan of weariness, he collapsed on top of her, burying his face between her breasts.

“Comfy?”

“Mm, very.” Clint rubs his cheek against the swell of her breast, his eyes mischievous. “I've been wanting to do this since the first day I met you.”

Darcy is familiar with the effect her boobs have over men. Even self-proclaimed ass men have loved them. Hell, even gay guys usually want to touch them. Fortunately Darcy’s a big fan of having them touched during sex too. Doesn't mean she won't give him shit for being so cliche, though.

“Is it everything you dreamed?” She asks wryly.

Clint's hands skim up her sides to squeeze her breasts, his thumbs ghosting over her nipples. It feels amazing, she's not going to lie. Her back arches, causing her crotch to rub up against his stomach, which makes her shiver, causing more friction against her nipples. It's a sexy feedback loop of pleasure.

“I think I could almost die a happy man,” Clint says.

He pinches one of her nipples, rolling it between his fingers.

“Only almost?”

“Sweetheart, I got a long to do list for you and me.”

“We better get started then. What's first on your list?”

“How do you feel about sitting on my face?”

Darcy pretends to consider it. “Only if I can suck you off at the same time.”

Clint all but leaps to his feet, pulling Darcy up off the couch too. “You got yourself a deal.”

He slaps her lightly on the ass making her let out a little shriek of laughter and pushes her towards the loft stairs. His hands are all over her as they make their way upstairs and Darcy can't help but laugh at how eager he is. At the top of the stairs, she spins to face him, pulling him close.

“Hey, I didn't even get a kiss hello yet.”

Taking that as the challenge she meant it for, Clint slowly backs her up against the nearest wall. One hand on the small of her back pulls her hips in tight to his and the other tips her chin up as his lips meet hers in a soft, slow kiss that's remarkably chaste. Darcy raises onto her toes and bites at his lower lip and with a low groan, Clint presses forward, deepening the kiss and darting his tongue out to tangle with hers.

Her head is spinning just from the intensity of his kisses. She kneads at his bare, muscular back and her leg lifts to wrap around the back of his thigh, her body desperate to be closer to his. Without breaking the kiss, Clint lifts her up and she locks her ankles behind his back, gasping when he rocks into her. His kisses soften and after one last light nip, he pulls back to look at her, his pupils blown wide with lust and his cheeks adorably flushed.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hi,” she says back.

The wall, Darcy is pleased to note, seems like a definite possibility in their future. He's not having any trouble holding her up at all. In fact, Clint has a good enough hold on her that she takes the opportunity to get rid of her shirt and bra. In turn, Clint takes his opportunity to capture one of her nipples in his mouth.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Darcy says. Her head hits the wall with a kind of painful thump and her legs squeeze tight around his waist. She's halfway through puzzling out the logistics of getting both their pants off without separating from him when he pulls off her nipple with a wet pop, spins them around and tips her backward onto the bed.

“We had a deal, sweetheart,” he says, making short work of his pants and boots.

And fuck, if the way he calls her “sweetheart” doesn't just soak her panties. Darcy scrambles to get rid of the rest of her clothes and Clint barely lets her kick the last scrap of her leggings off before he's diving for her cunt, deftly rolling them so she's on top.

Cursing and crying out at how intensely _amazing_ his tongue feels on her clit, Darcy gathers her hair to the side and swallows down as much of Clint’s cock as she can. She takes a deep, shuddering breath through her nose while she adjusts to the feel of him in her mouth and then she wraps a hand around the thick base and bobs her head slowly, swirling her tongue around the tip on the upstroke.

Giving head, Darcy has always felt, is one of her greatest talents. It's really too bad she can't put it on a resume. With how quickly he’s got her thighs quivering and her heart racing Clint definitely matches her in expertise, if not surpasses her.

Knowing the vibrations of her moans will feel good on his cock, she lets herself vocalize just how good he's making her feel. From the way his thighs tense and his toes curl, she knows he must be close and Darcy almost laughs at the idea that they're basically racing each other to see who can make the other one come faster.

As much as she loves having him in her mouth though, that's not the way she wants him to come. So she backs off a little, stroking him lazily with her hand and giving only kittenish licks across the tip while she leans back a little and lets him take her over the edge.

Pushing off of him, Darcy sprawls on her side while she recovers, trembling every so often with aftershocks as Clint’s fingers lightly drag over her skin.

“Condom?” She asks.

“Just waiting until you were ready,” Clint says, stretching beautifully to retrieve one from his nightstand.

He goes to roll it on, but Darcy plucks it out of his hand and pushes back on his shoulder until he gets the idea and lays back against the pillows. She raises up and rolls the condom down over his cock before sinking down on it herself. She goes slow, scraping her nails down the firm planes of his torso while she adjusts to the feel of him filling her up.

Clint’s hands immediately cup her breasts, his callused fingertips tracing lazy circles around her nipples. She moves over him slowly and he matches every roll of her hips with a gentle thrust of his own.

“God you're gorgeous,” he says. “But you got me really close with your mouth. I'm not going to last long.”

“S’fine,” Darcy pants. Fuck, she's already close to coming again.

Maybe because he can feel her clench around him or maybe just losing the tight grip on his control, Clint closes his hands around the curves of her hips and starts to drive up into her. It only takes a handful of thrusts before she comes and Clint follows quickly behind her, his back arching high off the mattress.

Laughing from the sudden rush of endorphins, Darcy leans down for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips. She eases off of him and stretches out by his side feeling blissfully relaxed. He ditches the condom and turns on his side to face her, tracing idle patterns on her bare hip.

“Did that cross a few things off your list?” She asks.

“Combos are cheating. Only one item counts per session. We're going to have to do it all again to make sure they've been properly covered.”

“You've got strict rules on this, I see,” Darcy says, trying not to laugh.

“Well I just made them up, but I feel pretty strongly about this, yeah,” Clint says.

***

Later, after a lazy, gropey shower, the two of them eat dry cereal out of the box side by side in the kitchen when bacon and eggs are declared too much effort. Darcy nudges Clint’s hip with her knee where it rests against the counter and she gestures vaguely between them.

“So this thing.”

Clint’s face goes carefully blank. “Yeah?”

“Kinda got off to a rough start,” Darcy says.

“Pretty normal for me,” he says with a self-deprecating shrug. “Last few hours have been pretty good.”

“That they have,” Darcy says with a sly smile. “Think we can keep it going?”

He's quiet for a moment and Darcy's sure she's about to get some spiel about how he doesn't do serious relationships, which isn't even what she was going for. He finally sighs and rubs a hand over his face, looking up at her with a suddenly exhausted expression.

“If my history is any indication, probably not forever. But I'm willing to give it a shot.”

The urge to make a lame joke about his great aim is overwhelming, but she resists. Oh well, might as well get the awkward relationship talk over with.

“Do you think it’ll be weird that you're my landlord?” She asks.

Chomping down on another handful of cereal, Clint gives her a careless shrug.

“Definitely. What else you got?”

Fair enough. They can deal with that if, or rather _when_ it happens.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” she says.

“Well alright then. You want to stick around and watch ‘Dog Cops’?”

“I love that show!” She says, hopping down from the counter. “Can you believe Sgt. Whiskers finally found who killed his family?”

“Spoilers!” Clint shouts, covering his eyes with his hand.

Darcy pulls it away with a chuckle and uses her grip to pull him onto the couch with her. “Sorry. I'll be good.”

“You better or I'm sending you home,” Clint grumbles, but he pulls her feet into his lap, rubbing absently at her instep while he turns on the TV.

Darcy is left with the distinct impression that he likes her right where she is, which is good, because she's pretty happy to stay for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave kudos or a comment.


End file.
